Personal Narrative-It's Time To Pick-Up !

It started as typical Tuesday with a couple of court hearings, maybe an arrest, but nothing to exciting. That all changed at dawn.

I landed face first. As I collected the pile of papers scattered around me, I cringed and briskly glanced at the unfamiliar faces fixated on my every move below the narrow landing of the school stair case. I briefly questioned whether I was in a cliché high school film before I was brought back to the reality of my freshman year by a stranger who yelled at me to move so she could get to class. As I fumbled back up on my feet and trudged to my sixth period class, my thoughts lingered on the unsurprising nature of this turn of events. Only two weeks earlier I tumbled to the ground in the middle of a half marathon. This clumsiness was not a new development. My evident lack of coordination had loomed over me since childhood, memorialized by the

When I was extended seven feet above the ground, I knew we had succeeded. My two bases were in front of me and my backspot was behind me. I heard the familiar counts of my backspot “one, two, three, four”, I bounced and pushed myself up into my bases waiting hands, “five, six, seven, eight”, I straightened as my bases lifted me up to chest level. I locked my knees and stayed tight. I put on a smile and looked ahead. I felt my backspot release her hold on my ankles. I heard her voice once again, “extension, one, two, three, four”, I brought my hands down to my sides and focused on staying tight as I slowly rose, “five, six, seven, eight. I was all the way up. Then a few moments later I heard the counts as they brought me to chest level then back down to the ground. We had done it, we had hit the stunt and did an extension.

“Hit a home run,” he told me. I smiled and laughed. “You know I will,” I said with a flip of my ponytail. I turned away from the fence and took a few practice swings. How satisfying would it be to hit a home run. That feeling of the ball hitting my bat in just the right spot. Hearing the loud crack and watching the ball soar over the field. I wanted so desperately to have that dream come true.

As we all headed outside to the football stadium, tension started to come through my whole body. My legs felt stiff and my hands felt as if water was running through my fingers. I was not prepared to walk across the stage. We practiced hundreds of times that morning but, it was just too hot to concentrate on what we were told to be doing. So much was going through my mind like, “What if I trip as I walk across the stage?” “Who all from my family is here?” “What am I going to eat afterwards?” I was starving because I had not eaten since 8:00 that morning. I stepped a foot onto the track circle and images went through my mind. Drops of sweat ran down my face and I tried not to look at the audience to keep myself from getting more nervous. As we stepped

Sports were never one of my strongest points. I could barely make it above average in physical education class so I was perplexed when my housemistress selected me as one of the athletes to represent my house in the annual inter-house competition. Apparently the house was running low on athletes and no one was willing to volunteer for the javelin throw. I grudgingly went ahead with it since there was no way out of the situation: then began the most stressful weeks I had ever experienced. Since my experience in the sport was non-existent, I had to invest double the effort put in by the other athletes. Every morning, I woke up at four o'clock to meet the coach while my fellow mates enjoyed the comfort of their beds. Majority of my time was spent on the school field. After weeks of seemingly endless training sessions and aching joints, the day assigned for the event was finally here. The competition was very keen since most of the athletes were adept in the sport. I watched on as each athlete took her turn and I could not help but envy the speed with which they ran toward the sector and the finesse they put in their posture as they threw the javelin. Each time an athlete made the mark, my self-confidence dropped a notch. The previous quietude inside me was suddenly gone. In its place was an overwhelming feeling of apprehension. I felt a strong urge to back out and it did not help that there was a little pesky voice in my head that kept on

It was a hot summer day that happened to be the day if Bryan’s first track meet. He was going to sprint the 100 meter dash, or at least he thought. Many of his peers and his family supported him. The heat was so blistering that you could cook an egg on the pavement. The smell of rubber filled the field as Bryan’s heat was called. As he was setting his blocks, he noticed that the other runners looked very athletic. Bryan was shaking as if someone poured ice down his back. “Runners at your mark,” said the official, “Set,....GO!!” Bryan gave all his might and energy as he exploded off the blocks, only to face plant onto the pavement. Pain and embarrassment filled his face, which felt like the sun had just given him a kiss. All he wanted to do

I hear coaches yelling their athletes place saying “16,17,18, you can’t let her get you!”. Leaping to get in the top twenty I cross the finish line, a voice in the speaker announced my name and place. “Vanessa Gonzalez eighteenth place!” my legs could not continue, a medical student asked for backup right before I passed out. I opened my eyes to the feel of cold towels and bags on my neck all the way down my body with people throwing water in my

With every jump vaulters began to fall. Time drew on and before long there were only two vaulters left. He had just missed his last attempt at fourteen feet and I was on mine. The clearance of the jump would be a personal best by six inches, champion of the Sectional meet pole vault, and a new school record previously broken by my father and my great uncle before him. Since I was the last one in I was given five minutes to prepare for the next jump, I had all the time in the world. I close my eyes and take a long breath in and feel my chest rise. It’s very quiet. There are no distracting conversations, cheers, or starting guns. Whether that was real or just myself eludes me to this day. I exhale the last remaining butterflies which fluttered in my stomach. As I open my eyes, I watch my pole rise and reach its peak where it is most comfortable. Its weight feels natural in my hands, a familiar feeling. I count as I take my first step, starting slow and steadily increasing. One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven. When I jump, the pole’s strength pushes against my arm. I use my left hand and drive with with all the force I possess. My legs heave upwards toward the sky with my upper body soon following. As I turn over, I feel myself slowly soaring higher to the point where I was able to pitch my pole back towards the runway. From that moment I knew I was different. I was exceeding my brothers, I was exceeding my dad. I was now the new pole vault record holder. I was better than any vaulter that had ever attended Sainte Genevieve High School. My back softly hits the mat and I immediately

As the early morning of the meet begins the world's “Runners to your mark!” are shouted to the racers. I fell my heart beating out of my heart, my legs go numb as I start to go into my blocks. The sight of every parent and teammate in the stands become blurry. Suddenly, the gun goes off and I’m out of the starting

My arms trembled like never before as I struggled to lower myself to complete the competition’s required pushup. As my nose neared the ground, I said a quick prayer; Please don’t collapse. I clenched my teeth as I rose from the stage floor. The audience cheered way too loudly for someone who had only done a single mediocre pushup. I jumped up with a mixture of glee and embarrassment. I had survived this critical moment in the Miss Illinois’ Outstanding Teen competition, but it wasn’t over.

In a matter-of-fact voice, Tom said, “First, we take the charges and set them on the North side of the prison. Then we put high explosives all around the prison, so the troops suspect it’s an aerial bombardment. 9.6 seconds after the charges explode, we use a laser to cut through the wall. Latter that, we hack into the encrypted computer system, find his cell and get out. Finally, we’ll set off the bombs, and 3.2 seconds later we head out of the German Territory.”

I know how scary it is for you to put yourself out there.. yet, I keep rejecting you. And the one time I did say yes, my two friends ended up tagging along lol. I'm sorry. I really am. And I'm aware that saying sorry isn't going to fix anything unless I put the effort to change it. SO, if you are free tomorrow, let's do something. I promise I won't lag

I walked into the gymnastics hall feeling so amazing and filled with determination. I got all warmed up and ready to perform which for me, at the time, was the most important time of my life. I suddenly felt this spurt of energy. I present, stepping forwards raising one hand. My eyes centring on the vault blocking everyone out around me. I sprint for my life, each step representing a next step in my life. I leap onto the springboard, propelling my self up into the air, and hitting my hands off the vault and flipping over 180 degrees to land with both feet. I didn 't fall out or take a step after I landed. That was my most successful vault I had ever performed.

The first thing that the seventh graders did was do a 6 six minute warm up run, around the gymnasium. The students ran a many different paces and with many different people. Most of the girls just walked and talked to each other, which lost them points toward their grades. There was one girl in peculiar that was trying to fake the teachers that she was running, by pumping her arms, but it did not work. The girl’s arms moved so weirdly, it was like a dancing inflatable at the car dealership. Two boys who were very athletic, turned on the jets and started racing each other. After the 6 minutes, all of the students got on the ground for push ups. Most of the kids moaned and groaned. Each student had to do ten, and at the same time as Mrs.Underwood called “up” and “down”. One of the kids who was in the race, did extra push ups, but did not stay at the same pace with Mrs. Underwood. “Up” and “down” seemed to be a difficult